Part 2 (1/2)
”Well, you've seen me. Now what are you going to do about it?”
”Seen you? Do? Look, mister, I'm only . . . MY name's Charles Dimsdale. I'm second a.s.sistant inspector to the under-commissioner for subway maintenance and repair. There's a misaligned track down here. We've had to make three consecutive computer reroutings up top (this was official slang, of course) for three different trains. I'm to see what the trouble is and to try and correct it, is all.”
Charlie was a rather pleasant if unspectacular appearing young man. He might even have been considered attractive if it weren't for his mousy att.i.tude and those gla.s.ses. They weren't quite thick enough to double as reactor s.h.i.+elding.
”Uh . . . did I just see you walk out of that wall?”
”Which wall?” the man asked.
”That wall, behind you.”
”Oh, that wall.”
”Yes, that wall. I didn't think there was an inspection door there, but . . . ”
”There isn't. I did.”
”That's impossible,” said Charlie reasonably. ”People don't go around walking through walls. It isn't done. Even Mr. Broadhare can't walk through walls.”
”I don't doubt it.”
”Then how can you ~ stand there and maintain you walked through that wall?”
”I'm not human. I'm a gnome. A metrognome, to be specific.”
”Oh. I guess that's okay, then.”
At that point, New Yorker or no, Charlie fainted.
When he came to, he found himself staring into a pair of slightly glowing coal black eyes. He almost fainted again, but surprisingly powerful arms a.s.sisted him to his feet.
”Now, don't do that to me again,” said the gnome.
”It's very rude and disconcerting. You might have hit your head on the rail and hurt yourself.”
”What rail?” asked Charlie groggily.
”That one, there, in the middle.”
”Ulp!” Charlie took several steps back until he was standing on the walkway. ”You're right. I really could have hurt myself. I won't do it again.” He looked disapprovingly at the gnome. ”You aren't helping things any, you know. Why don't you vanish? There're no such things as gnomes. Even in New York. Especially in New York. ”
”Ha!” grunted the gnome. He said it in such a way as to imply that among those a.s.sembled, there was one possessed of about as many brains as a stale pretzel. The big, soft kind, with plenty of salt. Someone was full of dough. Charlie had no trouble isolating him.
”Look,” he said imploringly, ”you simply can't be!”
”Then how the deuce am l?” The gnome stuck out a hairy paw. ”Look, my name's Van Groot.”
”Charmed,” said Charlie, dazedly shaking the proffered palm.
Here I am, he thought, thirty meters below the ground in the middle of Manhattan, shaking hands with a character who claims to be out of the Brothers Grimm named Van Groot who wears Brooks Brothers suits.
But he had seen him walk out of a wall.
This suggested two possibilities.
One, it was really happening and there were indeed such creatures as .gnomes. Two, he'd been breathing subway exhaust fumes too long and was operating on only one cylinder. At the moment he inclined to the latter explanation.
”I know how you must feel,” said Van Groot sympathetically. ”Come along with me for a bit. The exercise should clear your head. Even if, De Puyster knows, there's probably not much in it, anyway. ”
”Sure. Why not? Oh, wait a minute. I've got to find and clear that blocked switch.”
”Which switchover is it?” the gnome inquired.
”Four six three. It's been jumped to indicate a blocked track, and thus the computer automatically ”
”I know.”
” several alternate programs . . .you know?”
”Sure. I'm the one who set it.”
”You reset it? You can't do that!”
Van Groot said ”Ha!” again, and Charlie decided that if nothing else he was not overwhelming this creature with his precision of thought.
”Okay. Why did you move it?”
”It was interfering with the smooth running of our mine carts.”
”Mine carts! There aren't any mi ” he hesitated. ”I see. It was interfering with your mine carts.” Van Groot nodded approvingly. Charlie had to hop and skip occasionally to keep up with the gnome's short but brisk stride.
”Uh, why couldn't your mine carts just go over the switch when it was correctly set?”
”Because,” the gnome explained, as one would to a child, ”that way, the metal kept whispering 'blocked! blocked!' This upset the miners. They work very closely with metal, and they're sensitive to it. With the switch thrown this way, the rails murmur 'open, open,' and the boys feel better.”
”But that seems like such a small thing.”
”It is,” said Van Groot.
”That's not very polite.”
”Now, why should we be polite? Do you ever hear anyone say, 'Let's take up a collection for needy gnomes'? Is there a Save the Gnomes League? Or a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Gnomes? When was the last time you heard of someone doing something for a gnome; any gnome!” Van Groot was getting excited. His ears flapped, and his whiskers bristled. ”Canaries and fruit fly researchers can get government money, but us? All we ask are our unalienable rights to life, liberty, plenty of fights, and booze!”
This isn't getting me anywhere, thought Charlie cogently.
”I admit it seems inequitable.” Van Groot seemed to calm down a little. ”But I'd still appreciate it if you'd let me s.h.i.+ft the track back the way it belongs.”
”I told you, it would be inconvenient. You humans never learn. Still, you seem like such a nice, pleasant sort . . . for a human. Properly deferential, too. I may consider it. Just consider it, mind.”